


Lightness

by Chocolatechippedteacup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:31:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatechippedteacup/pseuds/Chocolatechippedteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the murder of her people by the Ogres, Lady Belle of the Marshlands is sent down a path where her only obsession is power. She didn’t expect the Dark One would fight to stop her at any cost.</p>
<p>
  <em>“My my my,” he started, looking up and down at the creature before him. “I have been hearing stories about you, Light One.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Dark One,” She hissed back.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Worldthroughmyeyesx prompted: "Candlelight, rain, tea leaves, fire, reflection, souls" for the one year anniversary for Skin Deep.

“Hide, my girl, please!” Maurice whispered frantically through gritted teeth, pushing his daughter through the small hole behind the bookshelf. 

“Papa—please don’t do this, I won’t leave you—”

“Hush, child. Be safe for me, Belle. Promise me you won’t go looking for trouble—”

“Father!” She couldn’t believe it—he was trying to say his goodbyes. 

“Promise me!” The roar he mustered up echoed throughout the torn apart library. 

They both looked towards the window as the onslaught of battle inched closer and closer to their once proud castle. The stench of rot and carnage brought on by the Ogres was pungent and overwhelming. 

Belle’s wide eyes were beginning to swell with tears—either from the agony of having her father ripped from her or from the pain that the smell was causing. His heavily lined face creased with worry and she heaved a sigh.

“I promise,” she said, biting her lip. 

Maurice cupped his young daughter’s face. She was just a child—nearly thirteen years had passed since she was brought into his life. She was growing more and more every day and while he did not fear judgment before the Gods, he feared missing these most important years in his daughter’s life.

He tried to soak her in as much as he could. Her light brown curls were tamed and woven into braids around her round face by her lady in waiting just that morning—she hated having her hair pulled and tugged. 

He would keep that memory as he walked into battle.

“Now,” he said, avoiding her eyes, “when I leave you must wait in here until you hear nothing--,”

“But--,”

“Listen, Belle!” He grasped her shoulders. “Nothing! Wait until the Ogres have come through here—there is nothing of value here for them in this room. Once you hear then leave you must go north to find your uncle. You remember visiting him in the summer a few years ago?”

She nodded as he handed her a small map. “Take the Wanderer’s Crossing—that will take you north out of the Marshlands beyond the lakes to his winter home.”

The doors to the library barged open and Maurice stood quickly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “M’lord,” sputtered a dust and blood covered knight, “they’ve overtaken the castle. They are laying siege and claimed to have conquered the Marshlands.”

“Gods,” Maurice whispered. He kneeled back down to his daughter whose bright blue eyes were full of concern. He stroked her cheek with calloused fingers, “Do you know what your mother said to me when you were born?”

She shook her head no. He gave a small, bittersweet smile. “After more than a day and a half of labor, you were given to her screaming like a banshee. She laughed and said that I was going to have my work cut out for me someday. Such a headstrong baby was going to be a stubborn and bold woman.”

“Papa,” Belle whispered, tears now flowing freely down ruddy cheeks.

“And I’m proud to see what you’ve grown into, Belle.” He kissed her on the forehead and stood up. “I love you my darling girl,” he said as he pushed the bookshelf back against the wall, covering his exposed child.

Belle tried to silence her sobs by clasping her hand over her mouth as her father ran out of the library. Through the small cracks she saw him slam the large doors shut; she knew he was going to try to defend their homeland as best he could as the entire Ogre army smashed apart her entire life. She drew her knees to her chest and prayed to the Gods that he would be kept safe.

Her prayers, along with thousands of other children’s, went unanswered that night.

****************  
When the cracks in the bookshelf allowed light to flood in, Belle knew it was finally morning. The night air had been terrifyingly full of screaming and horrible smells. At one point she heard the Ogres outside the library, but none entered on her safe space. She listened, as her father instructed her, for any footsteps or voices. After an hour or so had passed she pushed the bookshelf with what limited strength she could muster and left her small cubby.

She dusted off her torn dress as her eyes adjusted to the brightness coming in through the stained glass windows of the library. The glass was styled to look like her mother, Lady Aceline, doing what she loved most: reading. Her mother’s kind eyes watcher over her as Belle moved to exit her safe room. After tearing her eyes away from the window, Belle wondered if she would ever see this room again.

After folding the map and placing it in her chemise, Belle slowing and cautiously opened the library door, entering into the long hallway. The beautiful portraits of her family were torn to shreds—her father’s stained in blood.

She went into her bedroom timidly, but only a few things had been tossed aside. Some of her mother’s jewels had been taken from her jewelry box. Belle rushed to her bed and lifted up the mattress and with an exhale of relief took the necklace her mother had given her on her seventh birthday. It was a rose that hadn’t blossomed, its petals of ruby shining in the early morning sun. 

Belle held it the cool metal tightly in the palm of her hand, nearly drawing blood. She had hated the thing when her mother had given it to her—she was spoiled and only wanted dolls. When her mother died a year later, she was too heartbroken and guilt-ridden to wear it. Aware of her remorse, her father told her that gifts from our loved ones allow their souls to visit when they die.

She hid it under her mattress ever since.

Clasping the necklace around her neck and hiding it under her dress collar, Belle grabbed a few different articles of clothing and a blanket off of her bed, stuffing them into a sack. She slung its strap across her front and left her room. Everything felt off balance—the world tilted to the side. The castle had never been quiet—it was full of noise, laughter, words. Now as she made her way down a bloodstained staircase she felt as if she was in another version of her world—a dream version.

Suddenly she stopped, air forcefully escaping her lungs.

There were dead soldiers everyone.

Brutal, horrible carnage lay before the young girl as she tried to step over bodies as she walked down the stairs. The white carpet was now forever stained with their blood. Her eyes stung as she recognized members of her father’s court—Sir Ian, Sir Gerard—as they looked up blankly towards the high ceiling. 

These were the men who she’d grown up running around, dodging their strong legs as she stole pieces of their armor to play tricks on them. They would tease her, pull her hair, and slip her sweets when her governess wasn’t looking. 

These men were empty vessels now.

That’s when she saw her father.

His body was covered with blood—his and his men’s—as she tiptoed around the others to get to him. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered, kneeling next to him. “My brave Papa.” She used the ends of her dress to clean up his face as tears washed down her own.

It was a violent action, attempting to keep down the racking sobs within her chest. But she couldn’t be loud. 

She had to be brave.

This was not supposed to be how the war ended. A girl cleaning up her father for his burial—no. No, the honest and good people of the marshlands—the peaceful people of the Marshlands--had done nothing to deserve such brutality from the Ogres.

She closed his eyes and laid across his broad chest. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered. Guilt struck her—if she had been stronger...courageous, her father may have still been alive. She lifted her head, her cheek stained with tears and her father’s blood, as she noticed his beloved sword clasped tightly in his hand. 

Belle took the sword from his hand and its belt from her father’s waist. It felt heavily in her exhausted hands but she was still able to put it back in its holster and fixed the belt so it would fit on her middle. 

Crack.

Her head shot up suddenly at loud footfalls boomed at the front of the castle. She stood up from her father’s side as quickly as she could manage. She would never underestimate that sound as long as she lived. 

An ogre.

As the doors to the entrance swung off their hinges as she scurried back up the staircase, hiding behind a marble statue. Belle stood still, hand over her mouth to keep quiet. She knelt low to the ground, watching as only one Ogre—a small one—rummaged through the carnage. It reached down and grabbed a silver shield, inspecting it while grunting. The ogre threw it like a disc, smashing it into pillar that collapsed from the force.

What is it doing here? She asked herself, watching the gray fiend thud around the dead bodies. It must be a vulture, she thought, remembering her book. The runts of the litter who, after battle was over, went to rummage through what had already been picked over.

It picked up a dead soldier, sniffed him, and ripped off his leg and proceeded to eat it. Belle succeeded to stifling a small squeal, but when she shifted to get a better view her father’s sword clinked on the marble of the statue making an audible sound that echoed though the empty hall.

Rearing its grotesque head, the ogre roared at her general direction. Belle’s heart stopped in her chest as she watched in stomp towards her. Her hand, shaking, grabbed the hilt of the sword as she watched the ogre sniff the air and walk closer and closer to the stairs.

Her breath was hitched, but in a moment of clarity realized that if she did die, she would be reunited with her father and mother again. And for a moment that gave her strength, or some sort of mask of bravery.

The ogre, on the other hand, was struggling to find the source of the sound. Instead of climbing the stairs, it was caught next to them, sniffing the air madly looking for her, trapped in a corner like an animal.

An idea—a terrible idea—concocted itself in Belle’s head. She slowly stood up, withdrawing the blade from its case as quietly as she could and made her way over to the railing. She knew she wouldn’t be able to kill the beast if she was on equal ground with it.

But from a height this high—she could surprise him. She had the advantage.

The beast looked about stupidly, but it was still a terrifying idea to not only jump on the ogre, but kill it. Her hands we sweating, barely able to hold onto the sword as the climbed on top of the railing. She looked down at the drop, remembering all of the times she wanted to jump down but was of course forbidden by nagging governesses and ladies-in-waiting.

She swayed for a moment on the bar of the railing; the only thing she could hold onto now was luck. Poising the sword straight down, Belle took a deep breath and jumped.  
The next thing she heard was the sound of her sword breaking through the ogre’s skull, driving itself into the beast’s brain. The ogre roared and flung her across the hall, her body bouncing off the marble floor. She skid several feet once she landed and cried out in pain as she felt a bone in her arm snap apart.

Her cry was muffled by the ogre’s. Belle managed to lift her head to see that the sword had gone so deeply into beast’s skull that only the jewel encrusted hilt was showing. She pushed herself off the ground, ready to jam it further in, but there was no need—the ogre fell to the ground with a deafening shake, clearly dead.

Limping slightly over to its body, Belle pulled out the sword with her good arm—its blood and gore she wiped on the beast’s body. She calmed her shaking body, ready to leave. Before turning away and leaving, she spit on the carcass and said:

“Being killed with my father’s sword was too honorable a death for you.”

Belle spent the next few hours preparing her father’s grave, an extra struggle with her broken arm. After much thought, being buried in the rose garden is what he would’ve preferred. It was near her mother’s grave: their mutual love of the flower translated into a symbol of their marriage.

After being covered with dirt, Belle buried her father and placed on his fresh grave a single rose, marking the site. She sang his favorite ballad softly as to not have the wind carry it against the fallen Marshlands. “Goodbye, Papa.” She said as she rose from the earth and looked at the red skies in front of her.

She would make her way to her uncle, as it was her father’s dying wish. But she would not stay out of trouble—she was going to slaughter as many ogres as they have killed her people. 

No, she would kill more—much more.

Belle was going to stop at nothing until ogres had been wiped from the world forever.


	2. Reflection

The early morning air hung damply along the wooded road as she shuffled her legs weakly. Her arm, which she was positive was broken, hung limply in the makeshift sling she’d made from the bottom of her dress. The pain had dulled within the past few hours of walking, but if she moved it in any way, sharp, stabbing paid radiated from her elbow to her shoulder.

The sun was slowly rising out over the tips of the forest trees as she came across a small clearing. The sky was red with blood and anger—and she knew the gods had seen what had happened to her kingdom and were full of enraged. 

The clearing was an abandoned camp site; remnants of life remained with a lost chair along and cinders around a dead fire. She sat on the wooden chair to rest for a moment and to consult the map her father had given her.

She ripped off a chunk of bread she had taken from the kitchen and chewed on it while looking at where she was supposed to end up. Map reading, something that she hadn’t concern herself with when she worked with her governess, was not a strong suit for her. But the outlined trail was simple enough; all she was required to do was go north the entire journey.

She looked inside her sack as she folded the map and tucked back into its pocket. The bag held two rolled up dresses along with an extra pair of shoes and a small blanket. Several apples, a knife to cut them with, the remaining loaf of bread, and salted meat heavily wrapped in paper were the only food she had for the multiple day journey. A small coin purse with enough money to last until she made it to her uncle’s was hidden under the layers of her skirt.

Continue on, it was what she needed to do. What she really preferred was to make it to the small village of Edensburg before nightfall so she could find a medicine man or woman to heal her arm. It was throbbing even without movement.

She slumped the sack over her shoulder after grabbing an apple. She walked out of the forest, looking at the billowing, rising smoke in the distance—Edensburg was closer than she anticipated. 

She smiled.

Belle stopped.

She buried her father, her home, and her entire life that morning—and she was smiling? Self-loathing was one thing, but Belle felt a hot ball of guilt so deep her heart began so have palpitations. She placed her hand over her guilt ridden heart and held back new tears. 

Do the brave thing.

What was she doing? This was the farthest she’d ever been alone and at the point, and in a small clearing deep in the Dark Forest was the first time she realized that. 

There was no more running into her father’s arms when he returned from his council meetings in neighboring lands—no more playing with the kitchen boys in the back gardens before supper…

…and no more reading her mother’s collection of books in their library.

Belle wiped the tears bubbling in her eyes as she cursed the gods for allowing her to forget one of her mother’s books. She could always find food—but she wouldn’t always have her mother’s things. 

She toyed with her necklace, unfamiliar still to her skin, but began her trek once more. It was no good stopping when she had a schedule to keep in mind. The smell of cooking and sounds of people grew stronger with every step, so she knew it wouldn’t be too long.

The air was beginning to warm as she hiked thought the worn path. She was thirsty: the bread and several bites of the apple weren’t cutting it for her. She took out the map again to see if a small stream or lake was labeled. Luckily, there was one not too far from where she stood; she could see it up ahead.

The stream trickled slowly, cutting through her path a few yards in front of her, a stone bridge crossing over it. The water was clear and empty of dirt and fish, both she wasn’t keen on consuming. 

Although, if she ran out of food and gold before she reached her uncle’s, she made not have a choice.

Belle knelt on the dusty bank and cupped her hands to hold the water. Her reflection stared back at her. Her skin was filthy—her lady-in-waiting would’ve had a complete meltdown at the sight of her. Her dress stained in ogre blood, torn at the bottom—her braids completely undone and her hair a mess. But there was nothing she could do at this point. And she was thirsty.

She scooped up the cool water and leaned in to take a sip when a high voice rang over her head.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, dearie.” 

The young girl yelped in surprise and fell backwards, nearly into the steam, dropping the water down her front. She looked up though loosened, tangled curls at the direction the voice was coming from and nearly fell back again.

It was a man—man? But a non-man at the same time. He stood crouched on top of the side of the bridge through some sort of act of incredible balance and leered down at her with a wicked grin. “Unless you want to forget your memories, I would suggest not drinking from the stream that enters the Lake of Lost Dreams.”

Belle’s eyes widened in fear as they quickly scanned the stream. She wildly pushed herself back, using her remaining good arm to do so, still lying in the dirt. She stood up quickly, withdrawing her father’s sword from her side, trying not to wince in pain. 

This man was dark magic, she could practically see it dripping from his pores, and she wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Oh, come now, Child.” He said, disappearing from the bridge in a puff of purple smoke, only to appear behind her in the next moment. His voice was playful: he was toying with her. “I have no plans to harm you, and that sword could not possibly harm me.”

She wheeled around, still clutching the sword tightly with her raised arm. “What do you want.” Her façade of courage turned her question into a statement—even she was surprised at how assured she sounded.

His dark eyes, nearly pupil-less, grew large with her command, his smile faltered. But a moment of pause faded aware as he regained his act and playfully knocked her sword to the ground. “Besides saving you from a lifetime of endless nothing—a thank you is not necessary,” he said with a wave of his hand, “I was on my usual morning stroll and I felt a wish about the be asked.”

She opened her mouth, but he placed a long finger on her lips, “Oh, you don’t have to agree—I knew you were going to wish for something sooner or later.” He gave a short cackle. 

Belle stepped back from his touch and looked him up and down. His skin, scaled and oddly tinted green was mostly concealed under dragon leather—something even King George wouldn’t be able to afford. His eyes, dark tinged of light, watched her intently, nearly squirming at the possibility of a deal.

She knew who he was.

“Dark One.” She said firmly, but her insides began to squirm with anger.

His face lit up and took a deeply over exaggerated bow, “Rumpelstiltskin—and good, skipping introductions will save us time.”

He stood up straight. “Now, onto business, your name, dear--,”

But the Dark One was unable to finish his sentence because the twelve year old girl, using her good arm, slapped him as hard as she possibly could in his face. 

Rumpelstiltskin stumbled back from the force of the unexpected blow, nearly tripping on the bank of the stream. His eyes were wide with shock as he regained his balance, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Belle grabbed the sword from the ground and while he regained composure, she pointed it at his throat. “You were supposed to help us!” She roared, her voice echoing through the empty forest. “We called for you for five months and you did nothing!”

He stood there; his grin vanished, in complete shock of what was happening. His confusion only angered her more—her face flushed with rage, her eyes narrowed to slits as she screamed at the man in front of her.

“You don’t even know what I am talking about, do you?” She said through gritted teeth, the blade of her father’s sword pressed against his jugular. “You don’t even know the people who you’ve cast into their graves!?”

Her words seemed to jolt him back to life. “Enough,” he said, and with a sweep of his hand the girl was sent flying through the air several feet, landing on her bandaged arm. She didn’t cry out in pain, but struggled to sit up, fury transparent on her face.

He caught the sword in his hand, stabbing it firmly in the ground with strength and magic before turning his attention to the embittered girl in front of him. “Now, you--,”

“My name is Lady Belle of the Marshlands,” she hissed, forcing herself to stand up. “Last night was the final raid in the Ogre’s attack on our lands. Hundreds of my people are dead—including my father the Duke.” She paused. “I suppose that would now make me the Duchess of our manor if it still belonged to my family.”

“We have made the call for your help for the past few months and as my people were slaughtered, you guarded riverbanks hoping someone would make a wish.”

He peered at the young girl in front of him, whose arm she was holding tightly against her body. “We made you promises of gold, of riches, of whatever you wanted. Are we really so low to you? Too pathetic to help?” The last word out of her mouth she nearly choked on, tears desperate to escape bubbled in her eyes. 

“I do have one wish, Rumpelstiltskin. One that is several months too late.” She walked over to him, standing toe to toe with the most powerful man in any kingdom. She looked the Dark One in the eye:

“Kill them all.”


	3. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, there is no Baelfire. The Dark One is ancient and he is time and he has never been human. His past is different and that will come into play later.

Rumpelstiltskin was not one for games. Or at least, games that weren’t of his devising. Toying, dancing, prying—all delighted him to a point. This was a game--but different. This human-girl was playing a different sort of game with him. She made her terms, justified her actions, and stood in front of him with her soul bare.

He watched her, feeling the world around him move slower as he did so. She was small for her age—most human girls were at least up to his shoulders by thirteen. Her face was bright with anger—contorted. Teeth bare, lips pulled back, standing as if to attack.

Typical human.

But then again…he thought, eyeing her. Not so typical. High-born--that he could’ve guessed before she told him. Her torn clothes were still of the highest quality—her rosy cheeks and soft baby fat told of her age and that she was well cared for. She carried herself the way most Marshland Highborn did. Almost haughty, but not vain.

Proud.

Her demands were not unusual. Her biting words spoken with a calloused heart.

He, of course, knew of the event to which she was referring. The “massacre of the Marshlands” was a phrase already being whispered throughout the ten kingdoms. He heard tales of it in nearly every village he stopped in.

He’d already started to comfort himself. He had business to attend to. Deals to make…to gain from. The Ogre slaughter in the small area of the 4th kingdom was, to him, unavoidable. For hundreds of years the Ogre kings have sought to claim those lands that the humans had taken from them. 

Duke Maurice offered little of consequence to him when he made his plea….nothing called to him. He felt no guilt in saying no, staying away from the inevitable.

Until now.

The blue-eyed creature in front of him was desperate—she reeked of it. Young and foolish--she was willing to throw everything away for revenge. 

Desperate Souls were his specialty.

“You would wish,” he began to circle her, twirling his fingers as he did so. “Death on your enemies?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Yes.”

He giggled. “That, _dearie_ , is a steep cliff upon which there is no coming back. Killing every one of the Ogres? Even their young?”

He expected an immediate answer. She was hell-bent on revenge, on destruction; her path was sired and marked.

But her face fell. Humans were so indecisive and he was reminded of her age.

She finally muttered, “Yes.”

“And you are willing to pay the price for this genocide?”

“No.”

He stopped, his façade slightly fading. “No? You are aware, dearie, that all magic comes with a price?”

She gave a small smile. “Of that I am keenly aware.” She stepped in closer, the Dark One barely a few inches above her. “But I will not be the one paying it. _You will_. You let my people die. Now you can make up for it.”

His lips unconsciously split into a grin. With a twirl of his fingers, he mended the girls broken arm—a puff of purple smoke surrounding them for a moment. She looked down in astonishment at the mended flesh, then back up at him.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

He raised his eyebrows. Curiouser and curiouser. Her bright blue eyes bored into his again.

Suddenly, he felt a twist in his heart. A wrenching, searing pain—as if his dagger had been stabbed deep into his chest. He didn’t move, he didn’t flinch—but he felt it as soon as he felt the human-girl’s stare.

Who was this girl? He knew, of course, of where she came from. But for a reason he couldn’t fathom, he had been pulled to her. Rarely was a deal so strong to distract him from his travels. But when he crossed through the Marshlands, he felt her.

A fear crept through his body. 

_The prophecy_.

“No.”

She raised her eyebrows, surprise overtaking the anger on her face. “No?”

“I’m sorry, dearie, but I am going to have to decline on your tempting offer.” He began to back away from her, the cold cut of her gaze was beginning to overwhelm him.   
“You’re—you’re _what_?” She advanced on him again. “You are not going to back out on the Marshlands a second time!” He wordlessly turned around.

“What changed your mind, Rumpelstiltskin?”

He ignored her and kept walking away.

“Rumpelstiltskin!” She roared, forcing him to stop in his tracks. “If you don’t help me I swear—”

He rounded on her. “And what are you going to do, Lady Belle? Yell at me to death?”

She went silent. He knew he was right, and he knew she had nothing to bargain with when he face fell. No. No deals would be made with her.

Today.

They stared at each other before a puff a purple smoke appeared and surrounded the imp. 

“RUMPELSTILTSKIN!” She screamed, her cries echoing throughout the empty forest. New sobbing began as she collapsed on the stream bank. “Rumpelstiltskin!”

And instantly, he disappeared, leaving behind nothing.

She stared at the spot where he was standing for a few moments, soaking in the entire situation. “I promise you,” she said dangerously. “I will destroy the ogres. _Then I will find you and kill you myself_.”

“He can’t hear you.” A woman’s voice came from behind her. “And if I didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to myself, I would stop screaming.”

Belle rounded on the woman standing behind her, sand pressing into the palm of her hands. The woman was tall, lean, with a heavy many of thick, fire red hair and held a large basket balanced on her hip. “And I would probably get moving—I heard soldiers riding through the glen up ahead.”

Belle stood up, wiping the sand from her hands. “Thanks.” She grabbed her discarded sack and began to cross the bridge. 

“I wouldn’t go that way, M’lady,” the woman said. 

Belle turned on the woman, feeling exasperated. “And why is that?”

“Because,” she smiled, walking closer towards the young girl. She was young, but still years older than Belle. Her gray eyes were still bright and her skin smooth and pale. Her lips parted, “If its power you want against the Dark One, you need to change your path.”


	4. Tea Leaves

“Wait!” Belle ran after the auburn haired woman, nearly tripping over her sword as she did so. “What do you mean, ‘change my path’?”

The woman smiled and turned to walk away. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She balanced her basket full of wheat on her hip and continued along her path.

Belle stopped. This woman was maddeningly mysterious. “You found me for a reason. I may be young, but I’m not stupid. You’re carrying a bushel of wheat and we both know that the closest field isn’t anywhere near here.” She walked up to the woman. “What is it you want?”

The woman turned, smirking at Belle’s words. “Greer.”

Belle stepped back. “ _Greer_?”

“My name. If you’re as clever as you think you are you’d know to follow me.” She turned and began to walk the path deeper into the wooded glen. “And I never underestimate based on age. Intelligence has nothing to do with how many years a person has existed on this Earth.” 

_Oh_ , Belle thought. _This is going to be interesting_. She touched the hilt of her sword—a new habit—and followed Greer. She couldn’t imagine this woman could be any more dangerous than both the Ogres _and_ Rumpelstiltskin.

But this world was full of surprises.

They came upon a small shack held together with what Belle could only assume magic or very crafty twine. It was a crooked little house, full of angles and sharp edges. Small cobblestone steps led up to the house with the forest poking through each brick, fighting as much as possible against the foreign invasion.

It was very quiet, Belle realized as Greer opened the front door and allowed them both inside. There were no birds, not rabbits, no boars snorting in the forest savaging for wild mushrooms.

Nothing.

Greer lit a candle—the house had almost no natural lighting. The inside was exactly what Belle thought it would be. Packed to the brim with odd knick-knacks, books, candles, jars full of things she had no desire to know about. A fire was lit and warmed the small room that they were in. 

A small canopy of silk hung above her head, covered in different, foreign symbols and words. Belle was beginning to doubt her decision to follow this stranger.

“Would you like some tea?” Greer asked, taking off her cloak. 

“Yes, please.” Belle said, still eyeing the oddity of the house.

“I know it may not be up to your standards, Lady Belle, but it has been my home for many years.” She paused. “But I suppose it’s Duchess Belle, now?”

Belle turned around quickly, her heartbeat quickening in her chest. “How do you know who I am?”

Greer chucked. “Doesn’t take a warlock to uncover that mystery. Your dress, although torn and dirty, is still worth half the village of Edensburg. Everyone knows the Duke’s daughter to be your age with those bright blue eyes and brown locks.”

She stepped into the light of the fire and touched Belle’s face. Her long fingers traced the outline of Belle’s jaw. “You’re mother looked exactly the same at your age. Although a bit taller and many more freckles.”

“You knew my mother?” A lump was beginning for form in her throat. 

Greer said nothing for a moment then commanded, “Sit, and we shall have some tea.”

The tea was too hot to drink, so Belle stared at the steam flowing off the stop for a moment as Greer took a large sip of hers. She didn’t ask for milk and honey, as she would’ve at home. She wasn’t a child anymore and she would drink her tea as an adult.

Several tea leaves floated to the top and spiraled in the cup. “There are those,” Greer began, awaking Belle from her thoughts. “Who believe that tea leaves are indicators of the future.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Are they?”

Greer shrugged. “People will believe whatever they want to believe.”

Belle watched the auburn haired woman finish her tea with a final gulp. “Who are you?” The words tumbled off her tongue before she had a chance to catch them.

She chuckled. “And you’re mother’s delicacy as well.”

Greer placed the tea cup on the crooked table next to her. Her voice was low and soft as she said, “I think, Belle, it is time you learn who you are.”

**12 Years Later**

“Please,” the old man begged. “ _Please_ , I will give you anything, _anything_ to make her better. Please.”

Rumpelstiltskin ran his long fingers along his chin. “Oh I do love that anything part. What do you have to offer me in return for my unbridled kindness?”

“Name it. I have some old trinkets, some gold.” 

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. “Hmm, well seeing as I already have those things, I think I may pass.”

The old man’s eyes grew wide. His dying wife coughed in the next room. Beads of sweat dripped down the human’s head, his face growing flushed with every staggered breath. “Wait! I-I have,” he looked around his little human house. “Handcrafted weapons? My son is an excellent blacksmith, the Duke--”

“I have no use for weapons, no matter how skillfully made.”

“My daughter owns a clothing shop—”

“I’m sorry _dearie_ , I make my own—”

“An antique tea set?”

Rumpelstiltskin stopped and raised his eyebrows. That was certainly something he had never been offered before. “Antique, you say?”

The old man perked up, “Yes! From the reign of Queen Alonza the Kind. It’s from my father’s side.” He ran into his kitchen and brought out (shaking) the full set. Kettle, cups, spoons, dishes… everything.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Rumpelstiltskin inspected the set. Every detail was perfectly crafted: white with blue trimmings. Quite remarkable that it had stood the test of four hundred and fifty years. Especially seeing how brutal the ill-named Queen Alonza actually was.

He stood up straight. “It is your lucky day, I will take it.” He snapped his fingers and the tea set was gone from the old man’s hands, sent to the small table by the fireplace in the Dark Castle. 

The man’s face lit up, “Oh, _thank you_ , thank—”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet, _dearie_. That was just my price. Lest you forget, the magic itself will demand something in return. I hope you are ready to accept that.”

The old man’s face fell once more; he nervously played with his hands. “I am.”

“Good!” Rumpelstiltskin cackled. “Here,” he summoned a small bottle. “Give this to your lovely bride twice a day and she will be right as rain before the week is out.” The old man took the bottle and began to walk towards his wife’s room.

But he stopped for a moment and turned to face the Dark One, his hands still shaking. “ _She_ wouldn’t have charged anything.” He said darkly.

Rumpelstiltskin’s smile vanished. “She, _dearie_? Your wife wouldn’t have charged?”

The old man shook his head. “ _She_ never charges. You better learn to change your prices, Dark One. You were my second choice.”

“I may be a little slow today, but whom are you—”

“ _The Light One_.”

His blood froze in his veins. The old man’s voice reverberate in his ears. 

_The Light One_.

In a powerful leap, Rumpelstiltskin flew across the room, attacking the old man and pinning him against the wall, “You better not be lying to me, _mortal_.” He snarled into the old man’s pale face. Every hair was on edge, that familiar pricking in his heart began to burn.

“I-I’m not—lying!” He choked out, Rumpelstiltskin’s forearm pressed against his windpipe. “She was in this village only a few months ago, before Anna got sick!”

“How can that be?” He thundered, “That I have never heard of her and you have? Hmm?”

“I don’t know! She’s not like you,” he sputtered. “She’s quiet, keeps to herself!”

Rumpelstiltskin dropped the man, who laid choking on the floor underneath him. “She rarely comes to the 10th Kingdom.”

“Then where does she go?” He picked up the man’s hair. 

“I don’t know! I’ve only seen her once!” The man’s eyes filled with tears, “Please! I know nothing about her.”

Rumpelstiltskin, breathing heavier than usual, dropped the man. “You know nothing at all.” He spat out. “Go to your wife before I take back the medicine.” 

The old man scrambled to his feet as best he could before dashing into the other room to a questioning wife. 

Rumpelstiltskin disappeared from the spot, knowing that at long last the prophecy was going to unfold. 

And he had to figure out how to stop it.


	5. Rain

It splattered in his face and in the mud he was playing in. He looked towards the sky, barely visible through the towering trees above him. He liked playing in the rainy mud, small castles and moats were much easier to mold.

“Tucker!” His mother called his name from their small one roomed house. “You’ll catch your death, get inside!”

But the boy ignored his mother’s calls. His sister was sick inside, ravaged with what everyone in the village knew was the plague. He was perfected content not having to watch his older sister cough blood on his mother’s sheets.

“ _I’d rather not_.” He whispered boldly, his dirty fingers stuck in the muck and grim. The moat was flooded and that was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

Suddenly, two bare feet appeared before him, nestling in the mud. They were white, glowing even, as they stepped in the mud. “You know, you should listen to your mother. You could get sick playing down there.”

Tucker looked up at the owner of the feet and nearly fell back in the mud. Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her skin was white and nearly shimmering beneath an exquisite silvery gown. Her eyes, milky white and pupiless, towered above dark red lips. Hair, the color of the first snowfall, fell in curls around her face and down her back.

She watched the stunned boy. “You’re—you’re the _Light One!_ ” He said, standing up quickly and wiping his muddy hands on his torn clothing.

She beamed. “I am.”

He swallowed his fear—his heart beating wildly in his chest. “H…have you come to see my sister?”

“I have.” 

“Tucker, who are you--,” his mother burst through the front door, ready to scold the young boy for talking with strangers. She stopped mid-track, her mouth opened at the sight before her. 

The Light One turned her attention from the boy. “I have heard your cry, Madam. I am here for your daughter,” the Light One spoke softly, her translucent eyes addressing his mother.

His mother started to cry, falling to her knees. “They told me you wouldn’t come! My husband even said—well, please, please come inside! I know it’s not much to look at, but we do alright. Elsa is over here, she’s sleeping now but I can wake her…” 

The Light One gave Tucker one more smile before entering his home. His heart was still beating like mad—he couldn’t wait to tell the lads what just happened. He had always heard stories of her—but they never told of her beauty. She had the loveliness of every fairy combined. But it was an odd beauty. She was a god.

He heard his mother’s murmuring; her soft sobbing voice dripping with praise for the divinity who marked their daughter worthy to save.

Before his sister fell ill, she was teaching him how to read. One of his favorite books for them to read together was a book about the history of magic in the fourth kingdom. The Light One was younger than most all-powerfuls—but she was the most benevolent. 

He heard stories of the sacrifices she had made to save average mortals. The lads in town said she wasn’t real—even if she were she would never visit the poverty-stricken fourth kingdom with its corrupted king and his band of thugs. 

Tucker never believed that. His mother yelped with joy from inside the house and he could here his sister’s soft, but not weak, confused voice. He smiled.

He looked up at the sky, the downpour had stopped.

_Violently._

The ground that had been so wet before was drying before his eyes. Tucker felt it in the air. _Magic_.

The front door to his house burst open and the Beauty appeared suddenly by his side.

He looked up at her from his puddle of mud, his hands dripping from the rain water and the wet dirt. The temperature dropped several degrees and he felt a chill run up his spine.

Something was wrong.

“ _Get inside_ ,” she hissed at him. “Now.” 

Her eyes were no longer white.

They were black.

The young boy struggled to stand, but froze with fear when a burst of purple smoke revealed a terror he had always feared.

He stood, towering over Tucker with all of the fierceness of the ten kingdoms. His face held a sharp grin that was maliciously dripping with delight but lacking true quip. 

_The Dark One._

Tucker had heard tales of this all-powerful. The lizard-skinned crocodile that was born out of war and blood at the beginning of time. He was all fangs and claws—everything that his mother told him about as she tried to get him to do what she asked. 

_The Dark One takes disobedient children…_

He felt hands grab him and bring him into the house, his mother’s soothing hands and voice promising safety.

“ _My my my,_ ” the Dark One started, looking up and down at the creature before him. “I have been hearing stories about you, _Light One._ ”

“ _Dark One._ ” His name was violent on her tongue. The foreign word that had been trapped in her head for dozens of years.

His head cocked to the side, the fresh sunlight glittering on his exposed skin. “Are we already acquainted, _dearie?_ ”

His eyes were dancing, watching her every move. Analyzing. 

She let out a low hiss, her eyes black and claws sharpened. “After all of these years and all of your power you still have the ability to underestimate what is right in front you of you.”

Her voice was soft, but not weak or fearful. It held a strange power, and a weaker mortal might have been seduced by it. But not he.

His smile faltered, fangs nearly bare. “You reek of unprotected magic, dearie—anyone with an ounce of magical ability could have found you. You may have power, but I have you perfectly estimated.”

With a flutter of white, she pieced through the air, flying on top of the Dark One in a wild fury.

Her shrieks echoed through the forest. With one extended claw, she dug in the side of his cheek, drawing fresh raw blood. “I let you find me, Dark One.” She hissed in his ear. 

He winced at the blood dripping down his face. “That cut will never heal, no matter how much dark magic you use.” She whispered, her words dripping with venom. 

His eyes were nearly as black as hers—full of a newfound rage and animosity. Her magic was raw, new-- untapped and untamed—but it was stronger than his. Her vicious mouth championed her own prowess and antagonized his. 

“How does it feel, to be so weak—so powerless, imp? To not be able to defend yourself?”

She breathed heavily on top of him, her white curls strangling the small space he had to move. Her magic held him down as he thought of one hundred different ways to maim her—to peel the flesh from her bones, to rip her dark eyes from their sockets.

“Answer me, Rumpelstiltskin!” 

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes widened. Her desperation gave her away and he was thrown back to when a twelve year old girl begged him to help her. His grimace turned into a sneer. “Duchess Belle of the Marshlands, am I correct?”

She retracted, her eyes turning back to white and her teeth and claws retracting. Her magic released him as she stood up from his body.

“ _Dearie, dearie, dear_ , look how you’ve grown. And not looking too shabby for an eighty-seven year old woman. Although the hair matches the age a bit, wouldn’t you say?” He sprung up of the ground, his twisted, mocking smile returned.

She was silent, but composed—regal even, he thought. “Tell me, _oh Light One_ ,” he circled her like a piece of prey, “how is it that a little girl from the dead Marshlands managed to gain of all this power?”

Her head moved to the side, her opaque eyes blankly watched him. For someone who were used to stirring fear, she was unnerving. “Had I desired you to know that I would’ve told you decades ago.”

“Then why,” he crept towards her, his boot crinkling the drying leaves underneath him. “Have you let your magic down today, dearie?”

“I am no longer a child, Rumpelstiltskin. I knew eventually we would meet and I’d rather it be on my terms.” 

“Why?” His voice dripped with naked curiosity. The Light One raised an eyebrow.

“I have my reasons. Just know this,” she gestured all around her. “The fourth kingdom is mine. You shall not deal with anyone here. They are under my protection.”

“Oh, what a lovely thought,” he giggled. “Protected from the evil Rumpelstiltskin. Delightful. Tell me dearie…why should I?”

She smirked, but it did not reach her eyes. “Try. And we shall meet again. And next time, imp, I won’t let you go.”

His own smile faded. He could smell treachery, its pungent scent leaking from her. “That is all,” she said, gathering her long gown and turning to leave.

“Just one more thing, dearie,” he said silkily, appearing behind her. “What about the ogres?”

She stopped, completely frozen, her facade fading long enough for Rumpelstiltskin to notice. “The ogres?”

His wicked grin returned. “Oh, _yes yes yes yes_. You see, _dearie_ , when you first came to me, begging me for help, I recall your price was the extermination of the entire species. Am in wrong?”

She stood straight, her face stone. “Yes that is what I asked.”

“Now that you have all of this,” he gestured around her, “power, why haven’t you done it yourself?”

With that, she smiled. “I have ascended, Dark One. I am above such human triviality .” She turned to leave once more.

“All magic comes with a price, dearie.” He yelled towards her. “I know you aren’t asking for a price from those you help. It’s going to cost you!”

The Light One turned her head but continued walking. “As I said before, Rumpelstiltskin, that is a price _you_ will be paying.” Before his eyes she disappeared in a burst of white smoke, leaving him dumbfounded and with an even bigger obsession with bringing her to her knees.


End file.
